Le Tournoi de Quatre Magicien
by Gammata
Summary: The tournament hadn't been held for over two hundred years. Now, it is being opened again. Four entrants. Only one can stand victorious. However, what are the secrets of one of the contestants?
1. In which introductions are made

Disclaimer: I own Harry Potter. If you are actually stupid enough to believe this, feel free to sue me.

* * *

Finally, something he liked about this country. He had only been here two weeks, and he was already hating the weather (it had rained almost non-stop since he came here), the way people dressed (how come they were all wearing dresses? How was a man supposed to fight in those?), peoples feelings towards technology (why do they insist on using quills and parchment when there was things like pencils and paper). But, he thought with a smile, they sure knew how to make their lamb chops.

Reaching for the platter to refill his plate, he was surprised when he found that someone was addressing him.

"Hey mate, how come I didn't see you on the train? Speaking of which, how come I've never seen you here before?". This came from a tall boy with blazing red hair, clear blue eyes and freckles covering his face. Smiling, he answered the boy.

"I walked. And I'm an exchange student, so I'd be more surprised if you had seen me here before".

"You walked here? From London?". The boy raised an eyebrow.

"No, I walked from Wick, Scotland", he said as he put the platter back on the table, having refilled his plate.

Their conversation seemed to have attracted the attention of some of the other residents of the table; in this case, a girl with bushy brown hair, large brown eyes and above average-sized front teeth.

"Really? Where are you from?", the girl asked.

"Up north", he said with a smile, refilling his goblet as he spoke. Although it was his first time drinking it, he was getting quite fond of pumpkin juice.

"What school did you go to?". Again, this came from the girl. Swallowing the piece of lamb chop he had in his mouth, he responded.

"I didn't go to school. I was...", he paused, searching for words. "Home schooled. By my grandfather".

"I'm Hermione Granger", the bushy-haired girl said. "This is Ronald Weasley" - she pointed to the red-haired boy - "And this is Harry Potter" - she pointed to a boy sitting opposite to her, emerald green eyes and a curious scar not entirely hidden behind unruly locks of raven-black hair. Harry Potter, eh? This scrawny boy was the great warrior who toppled the Dark Lord? He didn't look like much of a warrior. _Appearances can be deceiving. Do not always trust what your eyes tell you._ He shook his head as he heard the words of his grandfather echo through his head. He looked up.

"I'm Wolf", he said.

* * *

Wolf sighed as he settled himself on the roof. It had finally stopped raining; the clouds were breaking up, allowing a full moon to be seen through the cover. The night had been an interesting one.

All the others had been in an uproar when Dumbledore had told them about _le tournoi de quatre-magicien;_ Wolf, however, had not been. After all, that was why he was here. _Le tournoi de quatre-magicien,_ or the Four-wizard Tournament, as it would be called in English, was an ancient tournament, dating back almost six centuries. It featured a wizard, or witch, from four of Europe's four oldest schools: Beuxbatons, Durmstrang, Hogwarts, and his home village, Yána.

No tournament had been held in over two hundred years, due to the large death-count that the tournament had acquired throughout the years.

Shaking his head, clearing it from thoughts, he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, letting the smell of the night fill his head. Gliding into the _Illusion of Elsewhere_, he was relaxed.

* * *

More than two hours later, he entered the tower room that was now his home. He could hear that the other boys in here was already asleep, and he was about to fall asleep himself. Stripping off his robes, he fell back on his bed, instantly asleep. 


	2. In which questions are asked

The sun rose over the magnificent castle that was Hogwarts, the clouds of the previous weeks raining missing entirely. The many great towers was bathed in sunlight, the painted windows yawning and stretching. A few birds rose from their nests in the Forbidden Forest, and began their morning hunt. Suddenly, the peace was broken by one thing.

A young man entered the top of the Astronomy Tower. This man was wearing a pair of baggy navy blue pants, held up at the waist by a black sash, and tied to his ankles by two smaller, black sashes. His long dark hair fluttered out over his pale skin and his muscled chest bore many a scar; the most prominent of which was two large ones circling his shoulders, as well as a large tattoo of a wolf howling towards the moon. His face was handsome; a gently sloping forehead was adorned with two black eyebrows; beneath them two very dark, almost black eyes looked out over the morning. He had a straight nose, a thin mouth, and a straight, confident jaw. He looked out over the stillness of the forest, and sighed.

* * *

Wolf sighed as he stood, looking out over the forest. The morning was quite chilly, but he was used to much worse. In fact, to him, it was a warm morning. Suddenly, something large broke through the leafy cover of the forest. The thing was a large, skeletal horse with large, bat-like wings. A Thestral? Wolfs mouth opened in shock. He had thought them to be nothing but fairy-tales; stories told around the campfire about the undead horses that haunted battlefields, taking the souls of the dead to the afterlife. Surely, seeing one in a school was a bad omen. However, as the thought crossed his head, the horse-thing disappeared into the forest once again. 

Pushing the thoughts of the horse from his head, he slid into the stance of the Nether Dragon.

* * *

A few hours later, he entered the common room, to find that it was still deserted. Wolf frowned. Ancestors, these people slept much! He had overslept today, sleeping much longer than he usually did, and even though he had gone to bed more than two hours later than anyone else, he still had time to do his workout before anyone else was up. He went up the stairs to his dorm room, to find a few people stirring as he entered. 

"Morning, Wolf", the redheaded boy – Ronald, was it? - moaned as he pushed the hangings from his bed.

"Good morning, and a good day to you, Ronald", he responded, in the traditional way of his family, before crossing the room to his clothes chest.

"How come you're up so early?", Ron asked.

"Early? I overslept", Wolf responded.

"Mate, it's not even six o'clock! We don't start classes until half past eight!"

"Yes, but this way I can get some... practice in before class starts", Wolf responded, pulling out a fresh robe from his chest.

A groan from one of the other beds meant that their conversation had woken up some of the other people sleeping in the room.

"Morning, Harry", Ron said as he too went over to his clothes chest.

Harry grunted something in response and pulled his curtains from his bed. The first thing he saw was Wolf, standing there getting dressed. His eyes was immediately pulled to the tattoo on his chest.

"Whoa, wicked tattoo, mate!". It appeared that Ron had noticed it too.

"Thank you", Wolf responded as he slid his robes over his head, before picking up his books from his chest.

"I must bid you both a good day, and I'll see you both at breakfast". Wolf nodded his head to the two boys, before leaving the room.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Wolf was the first one down at breakfast. However, he hadn't finished his first plate of bacon before the first people started trickling in. Maybe fifteen minutes after the first person had come in – a Ravenclaw, looking like he belonged in third year -, Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the room, and, seeing him, sat down next to him. 

"Merlin, you're hungry", Ron said with a smile while loading sausages onto his own plate.

"If a man wishes to be strong, a man must eat healthily", Wolf said, quoting his grandfather.

"That's true, but you've cleared out a platter of bacon yourself!". This came from Hermione.

"That is correct", Wolf said, putting his water goblet back on the table. "So?"

"Those are meant for five people!", she said. Wolf raised an eyebrow.

"Does my name suggest that I'd eat little?", he said with a smile on his lips. This caused both Ron and Harry to laugh, and Hermione to smile.

"What are you guys laughing at?". This came from a very pretty girl, with long, red locks and sparkling green eyes. Ron's sister, perhaps?

"Ginny, this is Wolf, Wolf, this is my sister Ginny", Ron said, confirming his beliefs.

"Oh, you're that transfer student Dumbledore was talking about last night!", she said, while helping herself to some porridge. Wolf nodded at this.

"How's our timetable look like today, 'Mione?", Ron asked.

"Outside all morning", she answered. "Herbology with the Hufflepuff's, then Care of Magical Creatures... we've still got the Slytherin's there, though". Ron looked at his own timetable, and groaned.

"We've got Double Divination afterwards", he said.

"You should do what I did, give it up. Silly subject, anyway", Hermione said.

"Don't say that. Where I come from, Seers are held in very high regard", Wolf said, a scornful look in his eyes.

"Yeah, but I'm sure most of those aren't just big frauds, like our professor is", she said. Wolf seemed skeptical at this; surely, one of the greatest magic-schools in the world wouldn't hire an un-Seeing teacher for Divination Class?

* * *

Herbology passed on quickly; they had been forced to squeeze the pus out of plants. Most of the students seemed to think this was gross; Wolf, however, had done much more disgusting things in his life, and had no problems at all doing this. 

He looked forwards to their next lesson, however: Care of Magical Creatures. He loved animals. He loved the chase of the hunt, turning a hunter into the hunted; he loved caring for nicer creatures.

However, it appeared that he would be disappointed.

His teacher, who was the largest man he had ever seen, talked so fast and with such a broad accent that he could barely keep up, and what he showed to them was neither a fearsome predator nor a wonderful pet: it looked like an unholy crossing between a crab, a scorpion and a manticore.

"Hagrid, what is that?" Hermione asked.

"Blast-ended Skrewts!" Hagrid said proudly. "Jus' hatched the other day, so ye get ter take care o' 'em yerselves! I was thinkin' it could be a little project fer ye!"

Let's just say the the rest of the class didn't get any better.

* * *

After lunch, Wolf accompanied Harry and Ron to the Divination Tower. Immediately when he entered, Wolf started feeling sick. Aini and Eru in a tangle, how was he supposed to stand this? How was _anyone_ supposed to stand this? Did the teacher actually expect anyone to be able to study here? 

"Good day", a fluttering voice said, coming from just behind him. He spun around, his body instinctively sliding into the stance of the Tiger-Crane, before realizing that he had nearly punched a teacher.

"Oh... sorry, Professor", Wolf muttered, leaving a very stunned teacher before walking away, and having a seat next to a boy called Neville.

As the lesson progressed, he was getting more and more inclined to believe Hermione's accusations of this teacher. She was, undoubtedly, a fraud. Nevertheless, he tried to do his best, but things wasn't becoming any easier as the two girls sitting by the table next to him constantly kept sneaking looks at him and falling into a fit of giggles whenever he looked up.

* * *

As night fell, Wolf found himself on the roof of the Gryffindor tower. He went through the day in his mind, reviewing everything that had happened. The entire school had been abuzz with talk about _le tournoi de quatre-magicien_. However, no one seemed to have connected him with it; he wondered what they would feel when he was chosen for the tournament. After all, Dumbledore had stressed the fact that you had to be of age to enter, and here you came of age at seventeen. 

Wolf, however, had become a man when he was twelve.

He wasn't used to living in a single place; his grandfather had taken him away on his sixth birthday, only letting him return home by midwinter, and leaving once the festivities was over.

But all that was over now.

Sighing once again, he cleared his mind and fell into the _Illusion of Elsewhere_.


	3. In which blood is spilled

"Today, we will start practicing Summoning Charms", their tiny Charms professor said in his squeaky voice. "To perform one, you need to focus on the item you wish to summon, and then speak the incantation, which is _Accio!_ Allow me to demonstrate", he said, and pointed his wand towards one of the pillows that they were using for practice. He said the incantation clearly, and the pillow zoomed towards him, landing gently on his desk.

Wolf raised his eyebrows. This was what they were teaching their fourth-years? He had himself mastered this spell before his eleventh birthday. How far ahead was he, compared to these people?

Looking out over the classroom, he saw that people were already practicing; most of them couldn't make their pillows do more than glide a bit towards them. However, a few seemed to focus too much, making their pillows soar through the room, hitting them hard in the face.

"Mr. Wolf, can I see you try?", Professor Flitwick asked him. Wolf smiled at him.

"Of course, Professor", he said, before raising his right arm. Focusing on the pillow, he flicked his fingers, feeling the familiar tingling sensation throughout his arm, before the pillow soared through the room, landing in his outstretched hand.

The professor nearly fainted. The rest of the class gasped loudly, and he heard Ron yell something in the lines of "Blimey!".

"Y-you didn't use a wand!", Hermione said, obviously shocked.

"That is correct, Hermione", Wolf responded with a smile, tossing the pillow back to the starting spot.

"B-but... how? That's really, REALLY advanced magic; no fourth-year is supposed to be able to do it!"

"That's for me to know, and you to guess", he responded, his wolfish grin spreading almost from ear to ear.

* * *

The rest of the week passed quickly, apart from one thing: Defense against the Dark Arts. 

Their teacher seemed wrong. Something about his scent was unnatural, like he was attempting to hide his original one behind another one. Not like perfume though. More like how prey sometimes hid their scent to avoid predators.

Wolf listened closely as their teacher told them about the Unforgivable Curses. _Interesting._ Where he came from, the Killing curse was allowed, however no man was allowed to take a life except in self defense, or defending his honor or the honor of his clan. The Pain and Control curses, however, where punishable by death.

He snarled when the Pain curse was cast upon the spider. The wolf inside him howled and railed against this cruelty; no animal should have to face this sort of pain. A low growl started in his throat, his lips parted to reveal his canines and his hands gripping the sides of his desk tightly. _If he doesn't stop the spell soon, I will stop it myself._ However, as the thought flashed through his head, Moody stopped the spell.

Relaxing, he noticed that some people were staring at him. He didn't care.

* * *

"Did you see that way it twitched like that?" 

"That was cruelty beyond words. No living creature should ever have to experience that", Wolf said, snarling slightly. Seamus flinched, obviously surprised by his tone.

"C'mon mate, it was only..." Seamus began, but Wolf interrupted him.

"Only spiders? Yes. But, a saying amongst my people says that 'if you want to truly know a man, judge him not by how he treats his equals; judge him by how he treats his inferiors'. If a man can knowingly, even smilingly, subject an animal to such boundless pain, what says he can't do it to a man?", Wolf said angrily, his snarl widening as he spoke, revealing his long and sharpened canines.

Turning around, he left Seamus and Dean dumbstruck, and walked away quickly, barely avoiding walking straight into Ron as he rounded the corner. Not feeling in the mood for a talk, he nodded his head towards them, before continuing his way.

* * *

"What's the matter with that guy?" Ron asked as he looked after Wolf. 

"No idea", Hermione said. "But he seemed really mad about something".

"Well, did you see his face when Moody used Crucio on that spider? He looked like he was going to rip his head off!", Ron continued.

"Yeah, and did you hear him? He actually growled! Fits his name, though", Harry said. "However, there's something about him that's just... odd".

"Know what you mean, mate", Ron said. "Did you see all his scars? And that tatoo of his, that's unbelievable! And how the heck can he be up so damn early every morning?" Ron scratched his chin. "Actually, now that I think of it, I don't think I've seen him sleep!"

"Oh, come on, Ron, everybody sleeps. Maybe he just doesn't need as much sleep as you do? And he has been here less than a week, you know" Hermione said.

"Yeah, but you can't deny that he's strange. After all, he did that summoning charm like it was nothing! And he didn't use a wand, either". Hermione frowned at this.

"That is true. And now that I think of it, I don't think Hogwarts has ever had a transfer student..."

* * *

_"Jump up on the desk."_

_"Get out of my mind."_

_"Just jump up on the desk."_

_"I said, get out of my mind."_

_"Jump up on the desk. NOW_!"

The wolf in his mind snarled.

"_Get out of my mind. NOW!_" With that, Wolf made a mental lunge , and drove the other force out of his mind. Coming back to his senses, Wolf saw that he had crouched, lips parted in a wolfish snarl, teeth bared, and his fingers spread wide, as if to allow his claws out. Moody physically recoiled when Wolf threw him out of his mind, magical eye spinning madly.

Breathing deeply, Wolf tried to relax. However, he found it hard to relax near the scarred old teacher.

"Excellent, boy, damn near perfect! Throwing the _Imperius_ curse off at your first try!" Moody seemed to try to smile as he said this, but he looked way too startled to give it a good try. The rest of the class were gawking in awe; none of them had managed to throw it off at their first try; not even Potter.

* * *

September passed quickly and uneventfully for Wolf. Apart from one thing. 

Wolf was walking back from the library, hands holding a couple of spell books. It was just a few minutes until curfew; the halls were abandonded. Rounding a corner, wolf stopped abruptly. A scent had reached his nose; one that he had sensed too many times. _Blood._

Handing the books he had borrowed to a very surprised suit of armor, he quickly sped towards the source of the scent.

Running quietly up a staircase, he heard a voice from the next corridor.

"You like that, don't you, filthy blood-traitor?". A sound of a fist meeting flesh at a high speed. A girls muffled cry. Rage gripped Wolf at this. A man, assaulting a woman? Here?

Rounding the corner, he saw something horrendous.

Three boys, all appearing to be a year or two older than him, were standing next to a bleeding girl. One of them, a tall boy with a shaved head, was holding her arms behind her back; one other boy, this one with short brown hair, stood back a bit, watching with a smile. The third, a lean boy with shortly cropped blond hair was holding her head up in her hair; his fist raised for another blow.

Snarling with rage, Wolf ran towards them.

The boy with the shaved head cried out in warning when he saw Wolf running towards them. The blond boy turned around.

With a cry, Wolf jumped up and kicked him in the face, feeling teeth break beneath his foot, blood splattering across the wall. He went down like a sack of potatoes, bleeding heavily from his mouth.

The brown haired boy immediately reached for his wand; however, as he pulled it out, Wolf grabbed his arm and drew him in close, head-butting him on the nose. Blood splattered all over Wolfs face as the boy tipped backwards, holding his broken nose.

The third boy, the shaved-headed one, had dropped the girl and pulled out his wand, and as Wolf turned towards him, the boy launched a stunning spell towards him.

Instinctively putting up a shield charm around his left hand, he knocked it into a wall, before jumping forwards, snapping the boys wand in two with his left hand, his right hand smashing clearly into the boys cheek. Pulling him close, he saw fear shine brightly in his eyes. A few locks of Wolfs hair had fallen out of its ponytail and were hanging in front of his face, enhancing his appearance as a crazy murderer.

"Listen to me, boy, and mark my words: if you even _think_ about laying a hand on a woman again, I will be there. And trust me" - here his bloodstained face split into a demon like grin - "I won't be so kind then". At these words, the boy went limp in his arms. He had fainted.


	4. In which accusations are made

Wolf waved his hand in front of his face, vanishing the bloodstains on his face and in his hair. Refastening his hair into his ponytail, he thought over what had happened this evening.

His fight had apparently caused a bit of a ruckus, and teachers had appeared; finding him bloodstained, standing over four unconscious bodies. Without even trying to listen to him, the others had been led down to the hospital wing, and Wolf had been escorted at wand-point to the headmasters office by his Potions Professor.

Wolf was not a happy man.

His thoughts snapped back to reality as the door behind him opened, revealing the tall form of Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts.

Seating himself behind his desk, the old man put his hands on his table, fingers intermeshed.

"Would you please care to explain what happened tonight, Mr. Wolf", the headmaster said, his face lacking the smile it usually wore.

Wolf told him his story; how he had been heading back to the common room; how he had caught the scent of blood on the air; how he had found the girl, held and beaten; how he had intervened. Dumbledore sat quietly throughout this, taking in every word; his face showing no emotion.

When he finished, Dumbledore sat quietly for a minute, before speaking up himself.

"It appears that your story... conflicts with the one we got from Mr. Schwartz. He claims that he was himself returning to his common room along with his friends, Mr. Smith and Mr. Graham, when he came upon you assaulting Ms. Weasley."

Wolf snarled at this.

"I swear, on the honor of my forefathers, that I did not touch the girl. They are lying cowards, who would rather shift the blame unto others than face the consequences of their actions." Dumbledore said nothing to this; instead, he looked deeply into his eyes.

Wolf felt the memories of the evening flash back into his mind. He raised an eyebrow at this, and even though he knew what Dumbledore was doing, he let him continue. When his memories fell back down, he spoke up.

"As you saw for yourself" - Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at this - "my story is true".

"Indeed, Mr. Wolf, it appears that it is so", Dumbledore replied.

* * *

Wolf had expected the common room to be empty – after all, it was after midnight – but, to his surprise, there seemed to be a few people awake. Most of them, he noticed, had red hair. 

"_You!_". Wolf turned around at this, finding Ron advancing on him, wand in his hand. "How _dare_ you come here after what you did to my sister!". Ron's face was red with anger, and two people – older brothers? Twins, by the look of them – was standing behind him, neither looking too happy.

"I didn't touch your sister. In fact, had I been any later, she might have been seriously injured. Now put that wand away, boy, before you get hurt", Wolf said, canines bared in a snarl.

"Do you really expect me to believe you? You were at the scene of the crime! And who are you to call me boy? You're no older than I am!"

"I was at the scene, yes – but I did not touch her! I came across a couple of brutes assaulting her, and I stopped them. If you don't believe me, ask Dumbledore. He believes me." Wolf said, walking away from Ron, towards one of the windows in the great tower room, opening it.

"Oi! Don't you walk away from me, you-" his cries were cut short as Wolf swung himself out of the window.

* * *

Wolf sighed, trying to shake the image of the girl, lying in a pool of her own blood. 

The night had been a bad one.

Sighing once again, he slid into the _Illusion of Elsewhere_, and was relaxed.

* * *

By morning, the news of the fight had reached the students. People were now avoiding Wolf, casting frightened looks at him whenever he was nearby. 

Wolf wasn't really concerned; he was used to his solitude.

However, when word got out that the three boys from Slytherin had been expelled, and Ginny had vouched for Wolf, saying that he actually had helped her out, people lightened up around him.

As they had earlier thought of him as a blood-crazed lunatic, people were now regarding him as something of a hero.

Wolf was concerned; he was not used to this.

* * *

August passed quickly; the last summer sunshine faded away, bringing colder nights and the first of the autumn storms. 

Ginny was climbing the steps to the Owlery, shivering a bit in the cold of the early morning. Dawn had barely broken; Ginny had awakened early, and finding herself unable to sleep, she had decided to go and send the letter to her mother she had written last night.

She sighed a bit at this; her mother had been very protective since her attack. Pushing the memory from her mind, she opened the door to the owlery. Walking over the straw-strewn floor, she tied the letter to the claw of one of the great brown barn-owls that belonged to the school.

She went over to the window, and let the owl out, before looking out over the school. No matter how many times she had seen the great castle, she always found it beautiful. However, one thing was different this morning.

A tall boy with long, flowing, dark hair, was going through a series of fluid motions atop the Astronomy Tower; kicks, twirls, jumps, lunges. pirouettes. Fascinated, she continued watching him.

* * *

Wolf stopped his routine, one leg still raised for a kick. He had the nagging sensation that someone was watching him. Turning around, he tried to identify the source of it. As his eyes went over the Owlery, he saw a patch of red hair. But before his eyes found the window again, it was gone.

* * *

September passed remarkably quickly, and before anyone really knew it, Dumbledore announced at dinner that the delegations from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons would be arriving the next day. 

Wolf grinned at this. No student here could possibly offer him any real competition in battle. Perhaps one from one of the other schools could?

* * *

Wolf hadn't worn the clothes since he came to Hogwarts; he grinned towards his reflection in the mirror. 

_Oh yes, they will notice me.

* * *

_

Hermione sat in the common room, waiting for Harry and Ron to come down, so they could walk down to breakfast. _By the gods, how can boys sleep so long? How can anyone sleep so long?_

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard footsteps coming down the staircase from the boys dormitories. Turning around, she expected to see Harry or Ron. She did not, however, expect to see what came down.

Wolf was confidently walking down the stairs from the boys dormitories, however, his outfit was definitely not the standard Hogwarts uniform. He was wearing long, black pants, with thin, blood red lines going down the outside; a long-sleeved black shirt, a turtleneck going all the way up to his chin; over all that, he was wearing a dark brown, almost black as well, tunic of some sorts, made out of leather with a rune – _Yána, isn't it?_ - above the heart. A dark cloak, lined with gray fur, billowed out behind him.

"Good morning, and a good day to you, Hermione" he said with a small smile.


	5. In which a feast is held

Wolf was standing on the steps leading up to the castle, facing away from it. He could feel the looks of the other students on his back; undoubtedly, he looked weird. Over the last two months, he had (apart from the whole Ginny-incident) fit in almost perfectly as a student at Hogwarts. Now, he was wearing an outfit that contrasted heavily with the Hogwarts school uniform, and he wasn't standing along with the other students that were waiting for the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to arrive. No, he stood with the teachers.

He was standing there, eyes closed, with his arms behind his back and inside his cloak, when he heard Dumbledore announcing that the delegation from Beauxbatons would be arriving. Opening his eyes, he scanned the skies; he couldn't see anything in the near-twilight, but he felt a scent on the wind... polished wood, sweat, and... malt whisky? Wolf raised an eyebrow at this, and then saw something by the horizon. Smirking at a first-year girls suggestion that it was a dragon, he raised his right hand and covered his eyes. His fingers tingled for a while, before he removed his hand, looking out at it, this time, his eyes zoomed in on it. It was a large carriage, drawn across the sky by a dozen large, winged horses. After a second, Wolf smiled. _Abraxan horses... so that's why I smelled Malt Whiskey...

* * *

_

"My dear Dumbly-dorr", the gigantic woman said, stretching her hand out towards Dumbledore. "I 'ope you are well?"

"My dear Madame Maxime", Dumbledore said, taking her hand. Even though Dumbledore was quite tall, he barely had to bend to kiss the womans hand. "Everything is fine. I hope the trip was enjoyable?"

"Oh, it was perfect", she said. Waving her hand towards the carriage, she said "My students". At these words, everyone looked at the carriage. A number of students, boys and girls clad in light blue robes, had exited the carriage, and was currently standing in two rows in front of it. Wolfs attention was immediately drawn towards one of them; a tall, very beautiful girl with long, flowing, silver hair. But his attention wasn't drawn to her because of her looks; no, there was something wrong with her scent. She was sending out some sort of pheromones; she was not entirely human. Wolf smiled. _This just got a whole lot more interesting.

* * *

_

"Dumbledore! How are you, dear old friend, how are you?" the tall, lanky man, wearing heavy fur robes and a fur hat, his face framed by a perfectly neat pointed beard.

"I am perfectly well, Professor Karkaroff", Dumbledore said, stretching out a hand towards the other man, who grasped it with both of his and shook it. Looking up at the castle, he smiled.

"Dear old Hogwarts... it's so nice to be here, it is... Viktor, let's get into the warmth now... You don't mind, do you, Dumbledore? Viktor has a bit of a cold..."

A bit of a murmur went through the crowd as Karkaroff waved one of his students fore wards; a lanky boy in his late teens, with large, bushy eyebrows, and a long, crooked nose. Wolf deducted from the whispers of the other students that, apparently, he was some sort of celebrity.

* * *

"So you're honestly telling me you've never heard of Viktor Krum?" Ron said, looking almost insulted. 

"As I have already told you, I have not", Wolf said.

"He's one of the best Quidditch players in the world! Probably the best seeker in the world! And he's so young!", Ron continued, a look of hero-worship in his eyes.

Wolf nodded at this. He had read about Quidditch; one of the largest sports in the wizarding world. But it wasn't played where he was from; brooms froze all to quickly for you to be able to play such games.

The evening feast was almost over; the main courses had already been finished, and everyone was almost done with dessert as well. Wolf certainly looked out of place here; the largest number of students were wearing the traditional black Hogwarts robes; then came the bright blue robes of Beauxbatons, currently sitting at the Ravenclaw table; followed closely by the blood red robes of Durmstrang, who were sitting at the Slytherin table; then there was him; sitting at the Gryffindor table.

His mind snapped back to reality as the dessert vanished, and Dumbledore stood up to adress the students.

"The moment has come." Dumbledore smiled towards the sea of upturned faces. "_Le Tournoi de Quatre Magicien_" - Dumbledore said this in perfect French - "is about to begin. However, I would like to say a few explaining words before we carry in the chest, just to clarify the procedure we will be following this year. But first allow me to introduce a few people to those of you who do not already know them. Mr. Bartemius Crouch, head of the Department of Magical Co-operation" - he pointed towards a man with a serious face, a toothbrush mustache, his hair parted down the middle, who was met with polite applause - "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports." This time he pointed towards a man with a childish face, a flat nose, and a rather large gut, who was met with much louder applause than his colleague had received.

"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have during the last months worked day and night to organize _le Tournoi de Quatre Magicien_", Dumbledore continued, "and they will, along with me, Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff be part of the jury who will judge the competitors actions."

Wolf noticed how everyone stiffened at the word "competitors". Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed it himself, because he smiled as he said:

"The chest, Mr. Filch, if you would be so kind."

Filch, who had until then stood unnoticed in a corner, now walked up to Dumbledore, carrying an old wooden chest, ornately carved and set with gems. It looked ancient.

Wolf caught a scent from it, and stiffened. Whatever was in that chest, was undoubtedly ancient – after all, his grandfather had said that the last _Alda_-tree had been cut down over seven hundred years ago, and he would know that, considering that he owned a sword sheath carved from it. There was also something else... his first thought was that it smelled of magic, _but how_, he asked himself, _did magic smell?_

"As you all know, four people will be competing against each other in the tournament", Dumbledore said calmly, "one from each school." - there was a bit of a murmur at this, as it seemed that not everyone had worked out that Wolf would be representing his school - "They will be awarded points after how well they conduct themselves in the four tasks of the tournament. Whoever gets the highest amount of points will win the tournament, and the cup. The participants will chosen by an impartial judge... The Goblet of Fire".

Dumbledore took out his wand, and tapped the chest softly three times. The chest opened slowly. Dumbledore put his hand into it, and took out a large, crudely carved wooden goblet. It would have been just any other goblet if it hadn't been for one thing; it was filled to the brim by large, blue-white sparks. Dumbledore closed the chest, and softly put the goblet on top of it.

"Anyone who feels like entering should put their name and school clearly on a piece of parchment and put it in the goblet", Dumbledore said. "Aspirants for the tournament will have twenty four hours to put their names in. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the name of those chosen to participate, the four students most suitable to fight for the honor of their schools. The goblet will be put in the entry hall tonight, where it will be available to anyone who wishes to put their name in. And to avoid unnecessary temptation, I will be drawing an age line around the Goblet of Fire when it is in place. No one that hasn't come of age will be able to cross that line.

"Lastly I would like to tell each and every one who considers entering that this tournament is to be taken highly seriously. By putting your name in the goblet, you are signing a magical contract. You will be forced to finish the tournament. There will be no turning back. Therefore I must ask everyone to ponder this seriously. Before you put your name in, you must be prepared to give it your best shot. But now, I think, it's time for bed. Goodnight, everybody."

* * *

The entrance hall was empty. This fitted Wolf well. Dumbledores message had been met with great uproar. The common room had been aflame with talk about who should be the Hogwarts champion, and the Weasley twins plans to trick the age line so they could enter. 

Wolf looked at the goblet. He understood them. After all, who wouldn't want eternal glory for themselves and their school? Stepping forewards, he put his name into the goblet.

"'Ere now! What do you think you're doing?", a voice called behind him. Spinning around, his body instinctively going into the stance of the Netherworld, he saw the scarred face of his Defense against the Dark Arts Professor, Alastor Moody. Relaxing his body but not his mind, he answered him.

"I put my name into the goblet, Professor. That is why I am here, is it not?" The professor grunted at this.

"Still can't believe it... you're so young... now, don't go standing around here; it's almost curfew, get to your bed", the professor said. Nodding towards him, Wolf exited the room. However, he had a feeling that Moody was watching him with his magical eye all the way back to the common room.

* * *

Wolf sighed. _I wonder who the participants from the other schools will be,_ he thought to himself. _I wonder what the tasks will be_ – he halted himself as he could hear the voice of his grandfather in his mind: _"What will happen, will happen. It will do you no good to dwell over it. Instead, prepare for it._ Finding wisdom in the words, Wolf slid into the _Illusion of Elsewhere,_ and was relaxed.

* * *

"The participant from Durmstrang", Dumbledore said with a loud, carrying voice, "Will be Mr. Viktor Krum". Before Dumbledores voice had even faded, the hall broke out in furious applause; Wolf applauded politely himself. However, he didn't take his eyes of the lanky man, taking in every detail, from the way he walked, to where his eyes looked. _Know your enemy._

The applause and cheer died down when the flames in the goblet turned red once again. A few seconds later, another piece of scorched parchment flew out, Dumbledore reaching out and catching it as if acting on instinct.

"The participant from Beuxbatons, will be Ms. Fleur Delacour". The room echoed with the smattering of applause as the silver-haired girl Wolf had noticed on the steps got up from her position at the Ravenclaw table, and heading out the door which Krum had passed through half a minute ago. Wolf noticed that, unlike the Durmstrang students, the Beuxbatons student very much minded not being chosen; two girls were even crying. Wolf raised an eyebrow at this. _Do they really want to enter this that bad?_

Once again, the goblet burned red; staying that way for a few seconds, before shooting out a piece of burnt paper. Dumbledore seemed surprised by the fact that it was paper, but he didn't seem to care as he rolled it out and read it out.

"The participant from the village of Yána, will be Mr. Wolf".

A great murmur rose through the hall as Wolf stood up from the table, barely noticing the surprised looks on the faces of his friends.

Wolf sighed. He didn't like shouting, and tonight there had been quite a bit of it.

Obviously the boy hadn't put his name in the goblet. Wolf knew how to spot a liar; the boy had been honestly surprised when he had entered the room. How come no one believed him? And besides, he had not been able to put his name in; he had been asleep when Wolf had entered their dormitory, and he hadn't snuck out during the night; Wolf was a light sleeper.

No, someone else had put his name in. The question was who.

Clearing the question from his mind, Wolf slid into the _Illusion of Elsewhere_, and was relaxed.


End file.
